The calm is just a ruse

Have you ever had a day where everything seems to be moving along too perfectly? Where you think to yourself, “Something’s up. Life shouldn’t be this good?” I had one of those recently, and sure enough, it all came crashing down.

The morning had been simply dreamy. While children and husband slept, I had enough quiet time to make coffee, check email, stalk my friends and acquaintances on Facebook, and even hammer out a wedding toast for my baby sister that I must say, is simply outstanding. Once kids arose, they left me alone in favor of Doo, who eventually caved to their incessant whining for Dunkin’ Donuts. Everyone was happy, even Mother Nature, who’d taken it upon herself to deliver a package of spectacular fall weather, despite it being the heart of summer. Later, I was able to wrap up the overdue weeding, take a stroll with Doo and the dog, and actually finish a sci-fi novel down by our neighborhood pool. Pure magic.

And then, of course, the day went all to hell. Quite literally, as I was sitting at my computer wondering how I would spend the rest of the glorious afternoon, my rare slice of serenity pie was whisked away in grand fashion by the piercing screams of our youngest daughter. I found her leaning over the upstairs banister and clutching her left hand, her hysteria increasing by the nanosecond. Blood dripped onto the beige carpet at my feet. Great.

Trying to entertain herself in her room, she’d been attempting to make jewelry from a soda can, when her thumb slipped across the serrated edge of one of the pieces she had ironically cut with safety scissors. Now her gash was spewing blood all down the hallway and completing freaking her out. [Our in-house drama queen, she also is our child who requires physical restraining for boosters shots.]  Eventually we calmed her down enough to determine she probably didn’t need stitches, just healthy doses of Ibuprofen, ice, and cuddles. But rest assured, she milked her condition for every ounce of sympathy I possess, including my reserve stock, and left me emotionally exhausted by dinner.

To add insult to the injury, we then received a text from our very gracious neighbor, whom our stupid cat had taken a bite of the day before, saying she’d had to go to the hospital after all, but was on the mend thanks to intravenous antibiotics and a tetanus shot. No worries, she’d keep us posted on her recovery. Awe-some.

So I’ve come to suspect any seemingly perfect day for the guise it truly is – the calm before a possible ER run and/or a lawsuit. Peace out.

Danielle Wilson

I was born in Louisville, Kentucky, the same year Dick Nixon was elected. Along with my twin sister and three younger sisters, I attended Catholic schools for thirteen years. (Holy Mother, pray for me.) I spent two years as a cadet at the United States Air Force Academy in Colorado until I wised up and transferred to a more normal school, Indiana University, where I received a B.A. in history and a teaching license just for funsies. In 2001, I officially entered the ranks of stay-at-home moms to care for my two-year old son and newborn twins. I have mentally blocked all of 2002 and most of 2003. In 2004, I received a Master’s degree in U.S. History from I.U.P.U.I. and a fourth child from my should-have-had-that-vasectomy-sooner husband. From 2005 until mid-2010, I played Super Mom in the yet-to-be released indie film "Provide Daycare for Your Sister-in-Law's Children Because You Don't Have Enough to Do Already." I returned to teaching this fall at an undisclosed Indianapolis school where thankfully very few parents know who I am. I am considering developing a bad habit.

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